Troublesome
by Little Redwood
Summary: "What would you do if your survival meant the survival of six others? Because I know I would win, for them." Absinthe Hennely is the District 3 tribute in the 115th Hunger Games. He swears he will do anything to stay alive. Even kill the one he loves.
1. Chapter 1 Reaping

**Summary: Absinthe is a highly intelligent boy from district 3. Chosen as tribute on his seventeenth birthday, he swears to himself that he will survive, in order to care for his young siblings. Thrust into a world of violence and deceit, will Absinthe retain his sanity while possibly finding something more? **

**Warning: Romance, darlings! The first few chapters will be dull when it comes to the emotional aspect of it, but they are quite necessary to proceed with the story. Beware! This will include blood, gore, and torture, a little bit of sadism, mature themes and language.**

**Might be a slash. Most likely will be. Maybe not.**

**AN: sorry for filling the top of the page with bold! Anyways, here is the prologue to my new story 'Never in Your Favor'. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Also, if you want to add a small side character to the plot feel free to. Post them in a review and I'll do what I can to involve them somehow. They won't have a big part though. I'm just lazy and don't want to come up with 24 tributes.**

**A BIG THANK YOU to Alice for editing this for me. I'm really a bad speller. She's like... amazing. I mean, if she didn't edit this yu wud b readin tis da hole way. Okay... maybe not that bad but... you get what I mean. She's amazing. But she keeps saying no when I ask her to marry me. I even promised to pay the airfare when we fly to new york. Ugh, she's horrid.**

**Review please. I reply to all of them privately, unless it's a question I think other people might want to know the answer to. I'm nice, and I don;t bite. I pinky promise. PleaI don't want to seem like one of those desperate authors, but I really do love constructive criticism. I'm not perfect. Far from it. I need criticism to get back. I love flames. They're fun to read. But they make me sad. Limit them, por favor. Anyways, I'm rambling. Adios. amigos. Hope you enjoy my story!**

**∞l-Chapter one- Reaping-l∞**

_A chilling wind blows past, whispering a sorrowful melody to all who wish to listen. It howls with cries of a mourning dove, cooing in ears like the breath of a lover's whisper. Today, everyone will celebrate. They will eat their finest food, dress in their most refined clothes, and spend time with family in hopes there will be much more of it to fritter. On this day, the day the entire nation celebrates, they will rejoice over the proclamation of 23 lives soon to be lost. The districts, on all other days united as one, will separate into families. There will be no smiles until after the names are called. And even then two families will shed tears for the children they will lose. Even as they send them away with hope gleaming in their eyes, mothers and fathers already know the last time they will see their children alive will be on the big screen in the center of town, where it starts and ends. Men and women will skirt the edge of the square, clasping their hands and praying to unseen forces that their children will be spared. They will laugh with joy when they hear the name of a kid who isn't their own. _

_And they will not feel bad that they did. _

_The Capital says it is all a game of luck, but the people know better. The entrants will be glorified and satire to be perfect ladies and gentlemen, even though come several hours later all humanity will be lost in the vanity of an unstoppable and inexplicably sadistic battle royal. It is an industry designed for the entertainment of others. It is a game where children, innocent and young, must grow up earlier than humanly possible, and come to grips with their death and the fact that they will kill others. It is a sport designed to make monsters out of the youth that could have been, but never will. _

_It is the Hunger Games._

_._

Reaping day was the only day the smoke stopped, leaving only the eternal smell of ash as proof of the fires that always seemed to burn. Our torches were put aside and our wires were coiled up, allowed to rest as we faced the possibility of slaughter. We all exited the dark factories in unison, like the toy soldiers the mayor's son played with on his porch some temperate nights. I squinted in the burning sunlight, my green eyes constricting painfully as I tried to ignore the pressure building in my head. It seemed a whole year without direct exposure to the sun did horrors to your eyesight.

I looked around; the barren landscape of district three appeared even more filthy and destitute than in the dead of night, when I usually returned home. The path from work to my shack was a short one; although the constant emptiness made it seem longer than it really was. The dead trees on either side of me looked as if they were reaching out to encompass me in their spiny branches, a sight that would terrify any other to the bone. The twins would have loved them.

I walked along the dirt trail for a half hour until the rusty roof of my 'home' came into view._ Home is too personal. _The _shelter_ was about twenty feet in each direction. Short thin metal shutters lined the moldy wooden walls, covering the numerous little holes that grew more and more plentiful every day. The roof was tin, thin and heat reflecting. One of the only reasons I'm glad it never rains here.

I entered, the door nothing but an old wooden crate reassembled and toed in place with frayed rope. Looking around, I noticed I was the last one to arrive. My brothers had left the hut a mess, their work clothes strewn across the floor as they hurried to change and make their way to the town square. With a tired sigh, I bathed, stepping into the filthy water my six brothers had previously used –though it did little to clean the oil from my pale skin.

_There are 630 males ages twelve to eighteen in district three. _

I slid into a pair of black slacks, the same pants I wore to every reaping since I was eight. _They finally fit me._ I had borrowed a shirt from a friend of mine, though 'acquaintance' would have been a better term. Our classes were different and even if he lived only a couple miles from me, it was enough to show our financial situations were worlds apart –to put it gently. _Poor and poor_er _basically._ The top was a little tight on my arms and torso, but it didn't look unusual. I brainlessly combed through my untamable hair, letting my fingers tease the locks out of their stubborn mats of sandy brown. The damp waves hung around my ears and forehead limply, waiting for the water weighing them down to evaporate, so they could spring back into their wild shape. No matter what I did, the licks and curls never ceased to spring free, like daisies popping up after a long –_rough, grueling, icy_- winter.

_Using the capitols population trends and the most recent census, I have been able to calculate that there are approximately 2,514 names in the bowl. Assuming about 40% of the district withdraws a tessera for each of their family members, disconcerting outliers and using the average family of four, there is an additional 1,020 names, leaving 3,534 slips of paper within._

I exited the shack and walk along the road, reveling in the comforting and familiar sound of gravel crunching beneath my toes. It was a bit more crowded now, with people rushing to get checked in. On the edge of the crowd, a pair of anxious parents held their thirteen-year-olds' hands tightly, giving way to their obvious anxiety. The children winced, eyes crinkling with what looked like distaste, but I knew they secretly felt comforted by it. Perhaps it was due to losing my parents at such a young age –having to essentially become one myself- I was sure I would never understand how a hand could comfort you.

_My name is in the bowl exactly 60 times. _

The line was small when I arrived at the town square, registering the dilapidated statue towards the center. I looked around, searching for my brothers in the crowd. They were all where they needed to be, thankfully. The youngest, Beau, was bouncing on his heels anxiously, his bright green eyes looking around, searching for someone he knew. Finding a family that we lived by, he settled himself next to them, obviously less anxious. For that, I was grateful.

_Simplifying the ratio 60:3,474 to 1:58 (or 1.724%), I can conclude that the odds of me being reaped for the 115__th__ annual hunger games is higher than average, but still unlikely._

The tapping of a microphone snapped me out of my mathematical daze. I brought my gaze up and caught sight of a bumblebee. With yellow skin and black hair she was the definition of hideous. Was that was they thought was attractive? If so, I would have loved to educate them. Watching their painted and crudely sculpted faces twist in agony would have been lovely too. Capitol people disgusted me. They were vain and gluttonous, eating more in a meal than we did in a year. How they did it, I would never know. Noticing the mayor had already sat down, a sigh escaped my lips. Had I missed the glorious speech I looked forward to all year? _Shame._

_"_Good afternoon citizens of District Three! Happy hunger games and may the odds be _ever _in your favor! Now, as always, I would like to start with the ladies," the bumblebee announced, her voice stinging my ears as much as the sun had marred my eyes earlier. She reached in and pulled out a single piece of paper, sickly hands standing out just _superbly _against the white of the red-colored fingernails snagged a ballot, not even bothering to mix the names around for a little bit of suspense. _Sucks._ "And the tribute-" she began, her voice now reminding me of a cat panting in heat, "-will be Ambrosia Hearte!" she exclaimed, looking around.

Moments passed before there was a quiet shuffling of feet, and a small girl emerged from the thirteen-year-old section. I chortled, earning dirty looks from the boys next to me. _Wow._ The small girl looked around, her dark eyes clouded with fear. She tripped on her way to the stage, making a few boys chuckle under their breaths. _Damn hypocrites. _Otherwise, it was quiet. She received no congratulations once on stage, only an overly exaggerated pat on the head, ruffling her curtain-like flat hair.

The bumblebee walked over to the other bowl and I followed her with my gaze, watching as she pulled the name closest to the top. Walking back to the microphone, she cleared her throat, the feedback making my ears ring.

"And the male tribute for the 115th annual Hunger Games will be Absinthe Hennely!" she squalled, her eyes searching the crowd.

My heart skipped a beat.

And then it was beating so rapidly I thought I was going to drop dead right there. Forget the bloodbath, or the careers, or the muttations!

_Anyone but me. I can't leave my brothers. I can't leave Beau. They'll take him to the shops. They'll starve._ My heart raced and I had to force myself to stop trembling. _Brave face, you can do this. Just think about it, you can win this, right?_

My hands shook with such a force I felt them rattling against my thighs. Clenching them roughly, my knuckles faded into a pale hue, nails etching crescents into my palms. There was a low-pitched wail from somewhere in the crowd. _Beau. _God, I couldn't even imagine what would happen to my family. They needed me, survived because of the income and sacrifice I made. If I wasn't around anymore, how the hell would they live? _Calm down, Absinthe. Think. That's what your good at. _

_There are twenty-four tributes in every game, save for the 50__th__ quarter quell, where there was forty eight. _

Nodding to myself, I swiped a quivering hand across my sweat-laden forehead. Pushing past the mumbling seventeen-year-olds, my body brutally shoved past them riding on withheld anger and helplessness. They turned their heads, watching with their beady eyes that blinked on the edge of absolute relief. _I would have done the same thing. _Two rows down, I locked eyes with Markus, standing amongst the fifteen-year-olds. His chiseled jaw was taut with stress, amber orbs shining with vulnerability that was foreign on his normally relaxed face. They were translated a message. _Don't worry about us. Worry about the present right now._ Unable to take his stare, I continued forward, advancing quickly –with a purpose- toward the stage where I would take my final bow.

_2,784 children have competed, 115 have won. _

Powerless against my traitorous neck, I swiveled my head to where Beau was standing. _Damnit. _He was clutching pitifully to our neighbor's skirt, staining tears into the violet-colored fabric. Green clashed with green, and we could not look away. I tried to convey all of my feelings into that one look. _Don't cry. Big boys don't cry. I'm not dead yet. Cry when it happens, but not now, when I'm still breathing._

_The winning ratio is 1:2.2086. The losing ratio is 1:2668._

Climbing the stairs one-by-one, my boots produced loud creaking sounds that echoed through the silence. The solitary winner of the games for district three sat alone, head bowed. We met eyes through her veil of corkscrew hair, only for her to quickly dart them away. She reminded me of a squirrel, hastily scurrying away at the slightest sound. _Coward. I'll die if she's my mentor. _Her fingers picked at the frayed ends of her long sleeve shirt, drawing the hanging strings out further and further so that more of the blouse unraveled. It was perfect, considering what she had done to win her Games. She'll probably tell us to hide, cower at the _strength _of the careers. _Pathetic._

_The average career had an 83:32 chance of winning. 72.1734%.That lowers my chance to 27.826%_

In wonder what'll happen when I die. I heard you go to a place where food is plentiful and water never runs grey; where the grass is greener –or so they say. Like most things, I was sure to be disappointed. Nothing ever worked out for someone like me.

_Only one tribute from district three have won in the history of the games. _

I should have given up right then. Stopped caring. Stopped thinking. Stopped _living. _It would have been easier, right? Would I be able to kill twenty-three other kids –like Beau and the twins- in order to come home? I could –no, I _would. _My death spelled the imminent fatality of my family. _Like hell, I'll let that happen._

_I have a 1:31 chance of winning. Approximately .87%.I have a 99.23 chance of losing._

The bumblebee grumbled a low, "Take your bloody time." Her face lit up once more, thick lips curving high, accentuating the creases around her coal-colored eyes. "Now, let the tributes shake hands!"

_With this data I can conclude that the odds will never be in my favor._

The little girl –Ambrosia- turned to me, having to look up because of our great height difference. I raised my hand, vaguely aware of the calluses and blisters peppering the skin there. Hesitantly, as if she didn't know why I had done such a thing, she put her hand in mine. I would have to kill this girl if I didn't want to die. _Kill her. _Was it worth it if the odds said I didn't even have a slim chance?

I narrowed my eyes and shook her hand once, abruptly dropping it shortly afterward.

_Fuck the odds. _

**Criticism is always wanted! Please tell me what I can do to make this story better. It's short, I know, but it's just the prologue. Things will get longer, soon. I have the majority of this story planned, but I do take requests. Not for characters, but specific plot with me please!**


	2. Chapter 2 Goodbyes

**Summary: Absinthe is a highly intelligent boy from district 3. Chosen as tribute on his seventeenth birthday, he swears to himself that he will survive, in order to care for his young siblings. Thrust into a world of violence and deceit, will Absinthe retain his sanity while possibly finding something more?**  
**Warning: Romance, darlings! The first few chapters will be dull when it comes to the emotional aspect of it, but they are quite necessary to proceed with the story. Beware! This will include blood, gore, and torture, a little bit of sadism, mature themes and language.**  
**Might be a slash. Most likely will be. Maybe not.**  
**Warning for this chapter: I was up really late writing this. It's been awhile since I've touched this story. **  
**AN: someone mentioned an error in the amount of tributes from district three. I wasn't thinking. There are three winners from district three. either way, the odds are low. The math takes a long time to do. if you want me to add romance, leave a review. I should be starting a poll soon. I'm not sure if I should add it or not. I know there will be some. I have the entire story planned, after all. I just want to know if you guys think it should be real or not. Absinthe is a clever boy. He's an actor, and can lie perfectly. So, I'm pretty conflicted.**  
**Disclaimer: I don't own the hunger games. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.**  
**I am not making any money off of this story. So, don't sue me. That wouldn't be very nice.**

**A BIG THANK YOU to Alice for editing this for me. I'm really a bad speller. She's like... amazing. I mean, if she didn't edit this yu wud b readin tis da hole way. Okay... maybe not that bad but... you get what I mean. She's amazing. But she keeps saying no when I ask her to marry me. I even promised to pay the airfare when we fly to new york. Ugh, she's horrid.**

**Review please. I reply to all of them privately, unless it's a question I think other people might want to know the answer to. I'm nice, and I don;t bite. I pinky promise. PleaI don't want to seem like one of those desperate authors, but I really do love constructive criticism. I'm not perfect. Far from it. I need criticism to get back. I love flames. They're fun to read. But they make me sad. Limit them, por favor. Anyways, I'm rambling. Adios. amigos. Hope you enjoy my story!**

∞**l-Chapter Two- Goodbyes-l**

The room they sent me to was one of the most luxurious places I had ever stepped foot in. Although, not what I think about it, I didn't have much to compare it to. Pale yellow, floral wallpaper covered the unmistakably cinderblock walls, giving it a cleaner look. It was odd, seeing a room covered in a design. I was so used to the customary wood and cinderblock my shack and the factories were made of. A plain white velvet couch sat in the corner, recently dusted, by the looks of it. I had always wondered it they clean these damn rooms every year of just a few days before the reaping.  
The sun streamed through the small window, a breeze ruffling the drapes and my hair respectively. If I wasn't faced with the thought of my imminent death at that moment I would have backed in the lavishness of the room, knowing it was probably the only time I would ever experience such opulence. I laughed at my thoughts. _But the capital awaits me now. This will seem like a slum once I get there._  
I leaned against the wall, my head tilting back as I gazed up at the pallid ceiling sightlessly. I thought about my brothers. I wondered how they would react to my death. I would think about friends, but I never really had any. School in our district is mandatory. After you learn how to read and write, you are shipped off to a factory where they teach you the advanced math you need to know to produce complex electronics. It isn't rare to see a hologram manufacturer capable of solving math beyond professors in the capitol, yet are incapable of spelling their name right. I even let my mind drift towards Jacob, the small finch Beau had found a year ago. He has smuggled it into our house under his tunic, then nursed the small thing back to health. The damn thing still frequents our house every now and then.  
My mind eventually wandered towards the games. There was no way I was the strongest. Sure, I could lift a 120 pound television, easy. But that was raw, untrained muscle I used to carry things short distances. I had never really _trained _my muscles, per say. I could, however, scavenge for food with the skill of a wild vulture, which would definitely get me somewhere, as long as the arena isn't somewhere filled with toxic, disease carrying bugs. _Well, I'm smart..._ I almost laughed at myself. I was intelligent, sure. But how far would mathematical calculations get me in a game where you have to fight to the death. Not to far, I suppose.  
The sound of the door creaking open snapped me out of my thoughts. I had almost forgotten we were allowed visitors. Markus stood in the doorway, his dark amber eyes slightly covered by a messy mop of shaggy brown hair. He looked up, those haunting amber orbs meeting mine. The pain I could see on his face made my knees weak. _He's fifteen damn it! He shouldn't have to take care of the others. _He took a few shaky steps forward. His mouth opened several times, but I could tell his through was to closed up to let him speak. His full bottom lip trembled as he tried to grow up in the few minutes we had left together. I grasped his shoulders and pulled him roughly to my chest. As soon as his tanned face hit my shoulder, I felt hot tears leak through my shirt. Markus' choked sobs echoed through the small room, making my stomach clench.. _How many tributes said their goodbyes to their family in this room?_  
"I-I'll take care of them, don't worry," Markus choked out, choking on his tears.  
"I know you will," I soothed, rubbing soft circles on his back, tracing the vertebrae of his spine slowly. _How can he take care of them alone if both of us working together couldn't even keep our own bellies full?_  
He wiped his eyes quickly, looking down in shame and embarrassment, "When you come back we won't have to worry about this, right? About the food, I mean. You'll be able to move us to victory village, won't you?"  
He looked up at me once more, his tawny eyes filled with tears, pleading for me to lie.  
"Of course," I whispered soothingly, cupping my brother's cheek affectionately.  
The echo of my final words were still ringing in my ears when the peacekeepers wretched the door open, calling out a gruff "Times up". Markus stepped out of my reach and backed out of the room, not looking away until the door was slammed shut.  
The door hadn't even clicked shut before the door swung open again, and I was met with the smiling, freckled faces of the twins, Alex and Chase. I was slightly affronted. _Were they pleased to see my leave?_ They didn't cry, nor did they tell me to win. They each grabbed one of my elbows and sat me down on the plain sofa.. Their russet hair shadowed their eyes as they both tried pull funny faces for a while, asking for my opinion every now and then. I laughed and nodded, giving some comments, but mostly leaving them to their own devices. I hadn't the heart to say goodbye.  
The door opened and they walked out, bidding me farewell as if they were heading to work like every other day. I thought of when our parents had died. They had acted the same, pretending nothing had happened. I remember how I thought they were in denial, until I heard them speaking of how much they missed them. Grimy hands clasped together as they reminisced, voices strained as they tried not to cry. _Strength goes hand in hand with pain._  
Moments later the door creaked open again, and I silently wondered if Ambrose would receive the same amount of tearful faces today. Maddox and Brandy looked at me. Maddox had his hands behind his back, his pine needle eyes hidden behind dusty glasses. His nose twitched as the large frames fell from his nose, but he did nothing to return them back to where they had been, as he usually would have. _No emotion, as usual._ The twelve year old looked at me with a calculating expression. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Brandy flung himself into my arms. His frame shook as he sobbed into my chest. The fabric beneath my diaphragm was soaked quickly as I held the sobbing boy. The ten year old looked up at me with tear filled eyes, "You have to win, Absinthe. We'll go hungry without you."  
I kissed his forehead, knowing he wouldn't mind the affection and nodded, "I'll win, I promise." _How many promises had been made in here, only to be broken in the weeks that followed?_  
He nodded, his mahogany hair falling out of it's combed back style as he did so. I noticed the expression on Maddox's face and pushed Beau towards the door, "I think Markus might need a hug from you, why don't you go out and see him?" With a reluctant pause, he turned and shuffled out of the room. I had never been close to Brandy. He connected with Markus like I had with Beau. The moment the door clicked shut I looked at Maddox. His eyes never left my face, and I knew at that point he was figuring something out.  
"I know the odds," the words confirm my suspicions. I nod, ignoring the blank look on his face. _Shutting down again_. I tried to ignore his eyes but soon they found their way to mine, boring into them with a look I had never seen on my little brothers face. He had always been the smartest of us all, able to calculate even the toughest of math problems by the time he turned ten. In his mind, emotions left room for error, and error was the reason people screwed themselves over.  
"I figured you did," I said simply, running a hand through my limp hair.  
He watched my movements, as if he expected me to lunge at him that very second. He hesitated, before speaking up, "Why did you lie, then? To Brandy, I mean. Why did you give them false hope? I don't get it."  
I looked over my younger brother, his face wasn't blank anymore. In the place of his usual stoic façade, was a look of mild confusion. I paused, making sure I chose my words wisely, "They need hope. If they believe I can win, then I have something to fight for in the arena. I know they'll be watching, hoping, _praying_, that I can somehow make it out of there alive. Forget the odds, Maddox, just hope I can beat them."  
With those final words the door opened, cutting off whatever response Maddox was planning to snap out. He narrowed his eyes and pushed his glasses up. Turning on his heel, he stalked out, his hands behind his back in a uniform manner. When the door clicked shut I took a deep breath, knowing what was coming next.  
The door creaked open for what I knew was the last time. The small trembling frame I knew all too well entered the small room. Beau. He was oblivious to his surroundings. His frail form trembled, his hands at his side, fingers digging into his thighs as he willed himself to stop. I could see long tears in his brown grainsack leggings where his fingers scraped at his bony thighs. His hipbones stuck out at unhealthy angles, the bones seemed to cradle the rest of his malnourished body as he took a shaky step forward, his knobby knees threatening to give way. The pitiful boy looked broken, a metal solider left in the rain too long. The rust would peel away, of course, it was new before it was tarnished after all. In a few years, age would rub away the scars I had given him, until he was good as new.  
I didn't think of that at the time though. All I saw was my little brother broken beyond repair. His face covered in burns from his work in the wielding plant, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks, leaving stains that I feared would never wash off. His chest heaved as sobs threatened to tear out of his frail chest.  
My baby. My Beau. I would never see his smiling face again. I would never hold him though the nights, smiling as he muttered to himself, sleep enveloping him like a warm blanket, something we could never afford. I would never be able to wrap his burns again, singing to him as the horrid wounds sizzled under the water I doused them in. I could never promise him I would never leave him again. I couldn't look at his heartbreaking face anymore. My knees gave way before his did and I fell to them, ignoring the unsanded wood that tore through the skin on my knees.  
I moaned, sounding more animalistic than human at that moment. At the same time, he let out a high whine, before making his way into my opened arms, his frail arms wrapping around me, before he collapsed, and as he did, the world fell around us. I clutched my brother, letting him sob into my chest. I trembled with as much force as he had earlier. Knowing the moment I let my tears fall I wouldn't be able to stop.  
His claw like nails raked across my back, breaking skin through the shirt I was wearing. I didn't care though, I just embraced him tighter, letting him embrace me. We didn't move for the time we were permitted together. We just held each other, out shaking forms never leaving the others. We needed each other. I gave Beau the love he never received from our parents and he gave me something to live for. Without him I would have died years ago. Those who have something to live for last longer in hell than those who have nothing but themselves.  
The door opened too soon. It felt like seconds, not the few minutes they permitted. I didn't move, and only held onto Beau tighter. The cold hands of the Peacekeeper that had been guarding the door wretched Beau from my arms. He let out a shriek, his arms reaching for me as far as they could go. I grabbed his hand, hoping they would let him go. I don't remember saying anything, but I must have, because moments after Beau shrieked I felt the knuckles of the peacekeepers other hand meet my cheek. I recoiled, but I refused to let Beau. _One minute more, oh please._  
I heard the gruff voice of the other Peacekeeper, who has standing by the door. My heartbeat was too loud for me to hear what he said, but whatever it was though, I would have to thank him later. Beau dropped from the peacekeepers grip and he collapsed. His sobs escalading into screeches of torment. One would think he was being mauled by an unearthly creature.  
I grasped the boys head in between my two hands, forcing him to look at me and cease his agonized moaning. He looked at me, tears still escaping his green eyes. There was nothing I could do about those though. I kissed both of his cheeks carefully, watching as he closed his eyes as I did so.  
"Be brave, Beau. Show your brothers how tough you are," I whispered, my voice cracking.  
"Absinthe..." he whispered, his voice hoarse from his sobs, "What if I can't be tough?"  
I looked at the pitiful boy for a moment before pulling off the small hemp bracelet he had given me years before. I knotted it around his bony wrist, ignoring how it threatened to slip off of the thin appendage.  
"There. Even if you can't see me for a few weeks, you will still have me beside you, alright? And soon enough, I'll be back home, I promise."  
He looked at the bracelet around his wrist and his lip trembled once more. He reached down his shirt and pulled at the wire that hung there. A small silver stag was thrust into my face. Our fathers pendant, the only thing Beau had to remember him by.  
"For your district token, stags are good luck, remember?" He mumbled, not meeting my eyes.  
"It's yours, though. You said it keeps the dreams away," I murmured softly, knowing he would miss the small token.  
"You need the luck more than I do," he sniffled, looking up at me with tear filled eyes. I pulled the wire from his hand softly, tying it around my neck easily. I embraced my brother once more and pulled him up, willing myself not to fall, for the fear of crushing my brother, who was sobbing once more.  
I cradled the malnourished boy in my arms, pressing him to me as if he were a teddy bear, and I was a young child, afraid that monsters were hiding under my bed. I exited the room once more and handed my little brother to Markus, who took him with sorrowful eyes. I nodded at him and kissed Beau's hair. I backed up and closed the door behind me, Ignoring the group of peacekeepers that had assembled outside of my room. _Had we really been that loud?_  
I shut the door quietly behind me. Leaning against the door, I closed my eyes. It hit me, then. I was alone, for the first time in my life. I had nobody to keep me up when I stumbled or someone to catch me when I fall. I wasn't Absinthe, the oldest son of a poor factory workers, nor was I Abbey, the older brother and guardian of his six younger siblings. Now, I was just Absinthe Hennely, the male tribute from district three.  
It was there, in the yellow room, where I let myself cry for the first time since my parents died.

.

**So that's the next chapter. Sorry for the lack of length. I liked the way the goodbye scene ended, so I didn't start the train scene. I really have grown to love Beau. He's already got some fanart. I'll post it later, since some of it gives away the fifth and sixth chapter. It isn't goodbye yet, I promise! Review. I always post faster when you do :D**


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